


Blood Runs Like Tears

by planet_plantagenet



Category: The Tempest - Shakespeare
Genre: Angst, Blood, Dark, Death, Feels, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7401664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planet_plantagenet/pseuds/planet_plantagenet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephano dies :O Much angst!!!! I made one of my best friends cry with this fic, I kid you not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Runs Like Tears

“Stephano?” My breath came in bursts, shallow from running. Never knew I could run that fast before… guess it’s just something that happens when you hear a scream that happens to sound awfully like your best friend.

“Stephano!!” I cried out again, voice cracking on the second syllable. A rush of adrenaline coursed through me; I couldn’t help but assume the worst. I pushed through a clump of bushes—and froze.

The leaves around the clearing were damp and dark with blood. I felt my palms go immediately clammy, my heart speeding up before I even realized who was sprawled on the ground in front of me.

Stephano.

With a jolt, I recognized a silver object jutting from Stephano’s torso—the hilt of a knife.

I stumbled backward. My vision was tunneling, hands shaking and heart beating so fast I almost felt like I was having a heart attack. I tripped on a branch, falling to my knees beside Stephano’s limp body.

With shaking hands, I pressed two sweaty fingers against Stephano’s neck. The contact still sent a rush through me. My vision blurred.

No pulse.

I’d never been good at checking for pulses. I grabbed Stephano’s wrist, frantically squeezing it in mine. His hands were smooth and warm. If this had been any other circumstance, I would’ve smiled. Now I could feel the tears dripping down my face and onto my fingers as I pressed Stephano’s palm to my face.

What was this. Why did it have to happen. Why Stephano. Why, why, why.

It had to be a dream. A crazy nightmare. The kind I’d had so many times before, where I’d wake up in the middle of the night and have to check Stephano’s bunk to make sure he was still there.

I seized the knife, pulling it from Stephano’s chest. His blood dribbled from the blade and onto my hands. In a quick, frantic motion, I put the blade to my own palm and slashed it open. My warm blood dripped down my arm and mixed with Stephano’s. I could barely feel the pain.

It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a dream.

My head spun, vision obstructed by the tears. It felt as if some part of me had been violently ripped out. All those years. All those days spent smiling up at Stephano. All those nights when I stayed awake, imagining the future and dreaming of the day when I could finally muster up the courage to tell Stephano, “I love you….”

All those dreams, crushed in an instant.

Stephano would never know. He’d never know how many hours I spent thinking about him, drawing endless sketches and trying to get his beautiful face just right, the rush whenever his skin brushed against mine.

I never told him.

I’d never know if he was as crazily in love with me as I was with him.

I buried my face in his still-warm hands, his blood and my blood and my tears swirling together before my eyes.


End file.
